


Actions Speak Louder

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: Everything goes wrong for Draco on Valentines Day
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90
Collections: Dramione Valentine Exchange





	Actions Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wish123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wish123/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneValentineExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneValentineExchange) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Everything goes wrong for Draco on Valentines Day  
> I'm nearly certain this isn't QUITE what you had in mind when you said "everything" but... this is the story that came to me. I hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> Beta thanks to dreamsofdramione!

It had sounded so simple.

A few flowers, their favorite restaurant, a perfect gift.

But somehow, he'd ended up being lectured on how Valentine's Day was a horrible ploy foisted upon the public in an effort to fill the coffers of the richest, most powerful people in the world by guilting others into spending more money than they should—as though fulfilling some arbitrary list of required activities would translate into showing your significant other how much you loved them. He'd been blindsided, stunned, shocked.

His pleas for her to listen had fallen on deaf ears, and she'd stormed out of the restaurant, her maddeningly beautiful curls bouncing in her wake. His only consolation was the view of her arse swaying enticingly as she marched away.

In retrospect, he really ought to have checked his calendar. But when the jeweler owled and said his order was ready, he didn't stop to think about what day it was. Maybe he should have gotten a clue when the first five restaurants he'd called were completely booked for dinner; he'd thought it merely a strange coincidence. And... alright, when nobody within London's city limits had a single rose for sale, that should have tipped him off, too.

Yet in his defense, he'd been so overjoyed, so giddy with excitement, so riddled with anticipation that he hadn't bothered to use his brain at all. He'd only thought that he wanted to be with Hermione as soon as humanly possible, so he threw together the best last-minute date he could, hurried to her flat, and practically demanded that she come out with him. Then, somehow, he'd failed in a most spectacular way.

He still didn't quite understand what had happened. One moment, they'd been holding hands, staring into each other's eyes. Then, he'd reached into his pocket, told her he had something for her, and she'd exploded in anger.

She'd said she couldn't believe how unoriginal he was, how pathetic, how absurd. He was surprised she hadn't tossed her wine glass in his face considering her dramatic exit. It had been so pronounced that the people sitting around them—couples, all of them, _how had he not noticed this when they'd been seated?—_ went quiet and stared. Silence followed after her, as everybody she passed looked around eagerly for the sorry sod who'd made Hermione Granger so angry that she'd walked out of a restaurant in a fury. His cheeks burned as, one by one, two dozens pairs of eyes found him.

Even their server gave him a nasty look when she brought the check, and he was only thankful that they'd been given their food _before_ the giant row, otherwise he'd bet a hundred Galleons someone would have spit in his food.

But the truth was, they _hadn't_ had a big row. Not really. She'd yelled, sure, but he'd only managed to squeak out a few protests during her tirade. She'd carried the scene with ninety-nine percent of the action, and now he sat, waiting for his cheeks to lose the flush they'd been sporting for the past five and a half minutes. He tried to drink calmly, as though this sort of thing happened every day and it was no big deal at all.

But he was incredibly torn. Part of him wanted to run after her, demand that she explain herself, demand she tell him just why she'd seen fit to storm off without even letting him get a word in edgewise. The other part of him wanted to sulk, to retreat into his corner, because if that's the treatment she felt he deserved, then who was he to try and argue otherwise? Let her stew in her overreaction, and she'd eventually realize how ridiculous it was and come crawling back to him to apologize and beg him to forgive her.

Then maybe— _maybe—_ he'd give her the gift.

Who was he kidding? Of course he would. It wasn't the kind of thing he could, in good conscience, keep from her. After four years of searching for answers, trying this new theory or that old wives' tale, there was no way he wouldn't pass on what he'd received. He might be a smug prick sometimes or a pompous prat, but he wasn't a complete wanker. She had absolutely every right to the information he'd garnered, and he'd force her to take it, even if it meant holding her down and forcing her to listen.

No. On second thought, he wouldn't do that.

But, Merlin help him, she was infuriating. The papers the next day would be full of the story:

War heroine and wizarding world darling walks out on millionaire Auror boyfriend on Valentine's day. See pages two through seven for photos, commentary, and interviews with patrons who witnessed the spectacle.

Draco sighed heavily and Apparated home. There was no way he'd be able to live this one down. Her friends would be in his face five seconds after seeing the headline, demanding this, threatening that.

It was all so tedious, really, and all over a mistake.

If only she'd listened to him for thirty seconds, rather than exploding on him—and he didn't even know what, exactly, he had done! She'd merely gone off about the date on the calendar, but he had no clue if he'd done something wrong—or failed to do something right.

He assumed she'd be staying at her flat that night, and as soon as he got home, he tugged at his collar, pulling his tie loose. He went to the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge, popping the top off with a practiced flick. He forced three swallows down, standing by the door, when he heard footsteps. He drew his wand and spun around, knowing deep inside that he was a goner, only to find Hermione standing on the other side of the doorway. She looked like she'd been crying.

"Hi."

"Hermione!" He set the bottle down on the counter and lunged toward her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking away from him. He froze, severely confused.

"What—Hermione, I need you to tell me what's going on. I don't know what happened back there. What... What did I do?"

"It's not that you did anything, Draco." She shut her eyes tight, grimacing. "And let me begin by saying that I severely overreacted, and I'm really sorry about that."

Every nerve in his body felt on edge. If he hadn't done anything, then what had caused her to run off? Surely her feelings towards him hadn't changed?

Right?

"Want to sit?" She bit her lip and glanced at the bottle on the counter. "And could I have one of those?"

"Of course." Robotically, he moved to the fridge and took a second bottle out, handing it to her as they left the kitchen and headed for his sitting room.

Neither seemed anxious to actually sit. Hermione immediately began pacing, and Draco went to the window to look out over London. He loved his view of the city, and at night it was extremely relaxing to stare out over the massive sprawl, watching blinking lights everywhere he turned but hearing none of the sounds of the life happening below him.

"I hope you'll understand. And don't think I'm too silly."

Draco turned his head to look her sharply, appalled at the suggestion that his beautiful, freakishly intelligent, ambitious girlfriend might be _silly._

"I'm listening."

After a few minutes, Hermione sighed and stopped pacing to look at him. "The thing is... Oh, it's so stupid. But here it is. You asked me out on Valentine's Day—"

His eyes shot wide. "I had no idea what day it was at the time! I swear to Salazar!"

She arched an eyebrow, extreme disbelief etched on her face. "You had no idea. Draco, I've been to your office, it's covered in pink and red and white paraphernalia."

"That's all Mildred's doing, I barely notice it. She's always changing the decorations." He huffed impatiently. "Besides, all that rubbish has been up for weeks. I didn't know it was _today_."

Pursing her lips, he could see that she was keen to believe him on this point. "Alright, fine. Assuming that's correct, that you didn't know, _I_ still knew. So, my thoughts started racing. You tell me you want to go to a very expensive restaurant, and, Draco, what did you think I would think?"

He blinked, trying desperately to put himself in her place, to see the situation from her perspective, but try as he might, he couldn't really grasp her meaning. "That I wanted to celebrate something?" That was the complete truth.

"Celebrate something, exactly! Like Valentine's Day!"

"No. Not Valentine's Day, not— _Here._ " He went to where he'd left his outer cloak and pulled out the bottle and accompanying letter. "This is what I wanted to show you. _This_ is why I made a big deal out of today, not because it was Valentine's Day—which, for the record, I know your feelings on."

Hermione frowned slightly as she took the letter, leaving Draco with the bottle. He watched her read, knowing from her reactions which part she was at. He'd read the letter so many times that he could practically recite it. He knew when her eyes went wide that she'd gotten to the part about Memory Potions. When she gasped, she'd reached the section detailing what was in the bottle—her eyes flitted to it and back in the space of a heartbeat. He knew she'd reached the end when her eyes filled with tears. She met his anxious gaze, a single tear spilling over.

"Draco, is... is this real?"

"What that letter says is real, yes. We've obviously got to try it—"

She cut him off by launching herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and knocking him back a few steps. Automatically, he returned the embrace, steadying them both. After a moment, he realized her shoulders were shaking with sobs. He tightened his hold, lightly gripping her hair. As she continued to weep, he held her until her tears were finally exhausted.

She pulled away and wiped her eyes, and despite the fact that she'd been crying—red eyes, splotchy cheeks, tear tracks, and snot—he knew he'd never felt more affection for her in his life. She was beautiful, in every possible sense of the word, and he would do anything to make her happy and help her fulfill her dreams.

"When can we? Try it, I mean." She stepped away from him and took the bottle, holding it up to peer at it as though she'd find answers in doing so.

"As soon as possible. I'll do whatever you need."

Her eyes filled with tears once more before she grabbed his shirt, pulled him toward her, and kissed him. He kissed her back, tasting the tears mixed on her tongue. But he would do anything she needed from him right now, even snog her while snot ran down from her nose. He absolutely didn't care. The kiss didn't last long, and she gave him a watery smile after ending it.

"I'm so sorry for storming out on you and not giving you time to explain. I should have known—I _should_ have known." She shook her head and wiped her nose. "I really am sorry. I thought—well, never mind what I thought."

He grabbed her wrist as she turned away. "No, I'd like to know. If you want to tell me."

Hermione let out a shaky laugh. "Oh, Draco. It's just... as much as I despise the holiday, I thought... Oh, it's so embarrassing!" She hid her face with her hands.

Draco tugged lightly, pulling one hand away. "Don't be embarrassed. I can't help but be insanely curious now."

"Of course you are." She let out a sigh and straightened up, looking him in the eye through her tears. "Alright then. It's just... It's Valentine's Day, and you invited me out to an expensive restaurant—the nicest in Diagon Alley—and I had to assume you called in favors for it because you had to have made the reservations this morning and—and you _dressed up..._ Merlin, Draco." She bit her lip in that way he knew so well, and it made his pulse race. "Then I thought I'd better wear this absurd dress that I know you love—"

"Only because I always want to take it off you."

She smirked and licked her lips. "But all of this was spinning in my head, and then when we were sitting there, after having a wonderful meal and drinking excellent wine, and you put your hand in your pocket, saying you had something for me—I panicked. I didn't want to be the woman who got engaged on Valentine's Day, even though that's what I'd fully been expecting. I mean I'd wanted it, of course, but there was such a conflict in my heart. In the end, it was just easier to get angry over how cliche it would be for you to propose on Valentine's and I... overreacted. You know the rest."

He blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest. She thought he'd been about to propose.

Marriage.

Well, not that he'd never thought about it. Of course, he had. Dozens, if not hundreds of times. But they'd been dating seven years and had spoken about the subject at length, though never conclusively and always in vague ways. It was always marriage in broad strokes, never the joining of their exact hands and hearts and lives until death did them part.

Hermione waffled between not wanting to succumb to the institution and loving the romance of it. Draco was in no hurry to broach the subject with his parents who, through gritted teeth (his father) and tight smiles (his mother), had thus far managed to tolerate the relationship.

He suspected that they assumed—wrongly—that while Draco would date Hermione, he'd never actually marry her. The truth was that he'd have done so a long time ago had she given any inclination that she wanted it.

Secretly, perhaps.

They'd steal away to some isolated place, bring only the bare requirements—an officiant, of course, Potter and Pansy, which would be convenient since they were married—and come home husband and wife.

"Draco?"

He jumped, slightly startled. "Oh, I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

She gave him a searching look. "Nothing. But you... drifted. Where did you go?"

"Nowhere. Just thinking." He forced a smile he knew she'd see right through. Clearing his throat, he took a step back to retrieve the bottle of potion. "When do you want to test this?"

She was staring at him oddly, and he could tell her brain was spinning a hundred miles a minute. It made him decidedly uncomfortable; he didn't want to talk about marriage, not today of all days.

"I'd like to examine it in more detail first." She picked up the letter and scanned it again. "But once that's done, I don't want to wait even a minute. Oh, Draco, I cannot thank you enough for what you did. This is incredible." She beamed at him, her eyes getting watery once more.

Draco took her face in his hands, tenderly brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. "I've been working on it for ages. This only just came today. That's why I rushed to get dinner reservations. Why I didn't notice what day it was."

"It's alright. I believe you." She chuckled lightly, then bit her lip apologetically. "I'm afraid there's going to be quite a story in the paper tomorrow."

Draco shrugged and released her face. "I certainly don't care what they say. We've weathered so much; this will be no different."

"What if..." Her eyes twinkled all of a sudden, something wild and mischievous taking hold.

"What? What are you thinking?" He eyed her warily. Hermione could be downright terrifying when she put her mind to it.

"What if we _really_ gave them a story?"

"What exactly do you mean?" The fact of the matter was she could come up with an elaborate scheme, complete with back-up plans and side-adventures, in less time than he took to read the morning paper. And she'd been thinking for at least five minutes already.

For a moment, she seemed ready to tell him her plan, even leaning towards him so far as to hop on her tiptoes. But then she faltered, doubt and indecision crept onto her features, and she hesitated.

"No, now you have to tell me. What are you plotting?"

"It's... never mind." For the second time that night, she started to turn away.

Draco growled slightly, grabbing her arm. "Let's not do this again, please. I don't know what you're worried about, I'm not going anywhere."

"I know! That's... that's the thing. You're not. Ever. Are you?" Her eyes were wide open, windows into the most precious soul he'd ever known. They showed fear, trust, uncertainty, fierce loyalty, and love. It was love that poured out as she squared her shoulders. "It's only that... they all think we had a row. A glorious one, too. I mean, I stormed out of a restaurant, leaving you staring after me with what I can only imagine was horror."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

"The last thing they'd expect, then, would be a big announcement from us." Here a fresh wave of fear flashed in her eyes.

"A big announcement?" He frowned. "What big announcement?"

"Nothing yet. But I've been thinking ever since my grandiose departure." She slid her hands down his arms until she could grasp his hands in hers. "What if... what if we announced an engagement?"

His stomach did a giant flop and his heart started pounding furiously. He took a few measured breaths, forcing himself to remain calm and collected despite the fact that his insides were threatening to dissolve in a giant gooey mess. He swallowed once—twice. "And, er, whose engagement would we announce?" At the horror-struck look on her face he quickly spoke again. "No, no, I only mean—what exactly are you saying, Hermione? Don't talk around it, please."

"I love you, Draco. And you're not going anywhere. At least, I don't want you to. Ever. And _I'm_ not going anywhere—ever." She smiled bravely at him, though her hands trembled slightly. "When I thought you were going to ask me to marry you, I felt a lot of things, but most of all it was a pervading sense of the rightness of it. For a moment, my entire world felt exactly as it should. And then I let a lot of other things crowd in and they screamed louder in my head, but that one thought—you and me, together, forever—sat there in the midst of all the noise, quietly content to wait for my attention. Knowing that it was the best thing, the most obvious, perfect thing that could happen. So, Draco... What do you say? Want to marry me some day?"

For an instant, he could only stare at her. Then he smiled slowly, stepping toward her. "No." He let the word linger in the air for just a heartbeat. "Not some day. Right now."

It was her turn to gasp and suck in a breath, taking a step away and releasing him completely. "What?"

"I will marry you any day you please, Granger. I need only five minutes notice. I would marry you right this instant if I could." He checked his watch. "It's only nine-thirty. If we hurried, we could fetch Potter and Pansy, see if McGonagall would do the honors, and we'd be done by midnight."

She made a face. "I refuse to get married on Valentine's Day."

He clenched his jaw to keep from rolling his eyes. "I'll take you somewhere east where it's already tomorrow."

Her eyes searched his for what felt like an eternity, then she let out a shaky breath. "You're serious."

"Serious as Binns with his bloody Goblin Rebellions."

"Draco!" A hand flew to her lips as her eyes flitted over his face. "I... I don't—"

He shrugged, trying not to betray how much this meant, how hard his heart was beating, how the rest of his life hung in the balance.

"Right now?" She sucked in a breath. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." He couldn't quite believe this was happening. As nonchalantly as possible, he bit the inside of his cheek to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It hurt.

They stared at each other until everything around them faded away. He wasn't sure how long they stood there, but he wasn't even sure he was properly breathing. He waited for her response, as though her answer would be either the final piece in the puzzle of his soul or the death of everything beautiful in his life. Slowly—so slowly that at first he wasn't sure of what he was seeing—she smiled.

"You've thought about this." It wasn't a question or an accusation—merely an observation.

"I have." He took a deep breath. This wasn't the time for games or denials. This was the moment to confess, to lay everything on the line, to plunge desperately and hope she rose with him. "A lot." It was also not the time to frighten her with the full depth of his feelings. He loved her, of course, and she knew it, but... to ask her to wear his name, even if she never used it outside their home... It was something he'd been dreaming of since their third date.

"Why have you never said anything?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "You always seemed ambivalent to it, at best. I'm not going to push you away by bringing it up a lot."

"The truth is, I _have_ been ambivalent to it, until tonight, when I thought you were going to ask, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to say yes!" She stepped toward him, standing where she'd been just moments before. "Draco Malfoy. You're the best man I know, and I love being with you. We've been through a lot together, you and I, and there is nowhere else I'd rather be than by your side. I love you more today than I ever have, and even though I know marriage is hard work, it's good work, and I want to do it with you. So, yes. Let's get married."

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, and when they did, he swept her into his arms for a searing kiss. When they broke apart, not even thoughts of sweeping her into his bedroom could deter him from the vastly sweeter prize that waited. They were breathing heavily, staring at each other as though not quite sure what had happened. But he had no intention of letting anything stand in his way. Unless, of course, she changed her mind—which might destroy him.

"You're sure?"

She nodded, biting her lip in a frustrating way, and not the good kind. He stepped back a pace, placing his hands on either side of her face, gently but firmly forcing her to look at him.

"Hermione. You have to be absolutely, completely sure. I'm not marrying you unless you know beyond any ounce of doubt that it's what you really want."

"It is. I absolutely, completely want to marry you, Draco. Tonight. Let's get Harry and Pansy, as you said. Let's wait until after midnight, though, to actually say our vows. They'll be available because I happen to know that they're just at home tonight, and McGonagall is at the castle, of course, so we can—"

"Hermione. Take a breath."

She froze, her mouth open mid-sentence, then clamped her lips shut. It was something they'd discovered together, whenever her mind was spinning faster than her brain could process. A gentle reminder to breathe was all it took, and she would pause, close her eyes, and take deep breaths until she'd calmed her raging thoughts. He allowed himself to stare at her, to marvel at her, still halfway between fully put together, as she'd been earlier in the evening, and crying in his arms. She was the exact picture of his heart, and she was about to make him the happiest man on the planet—as cringe-worthy and gag-inducing as that sounded in his head.

Then she smiled. "Let's get married. What do we need to do?"

"Where would you like to get married? Surely not Hogwarts." He managed not to make a face, but only just barely.

"No. Not at the castle. What about on the coast somewhere, near Hogwarts?" She frantically scrounged in her bag and pulled out a map. Opening it quickly, she pointed to an area on the west coast of Scotland, near the northernmost part. "What about here? Oldshoremore. I've heard lovely things about it."

"It's after dark, Hermione. We could get married in a cave and it'll look the same as a beautiful beach." He thought for a moment, then realized what he needed to do. "Tell you what, I'll handle the location. You just find something to wear. Why don't we split up and meet at Potter's in half an hour? It's… nearly eleven. If we play this right, we'll marry on the fifteenth."

She smiled at him, brilliant and breathless and beautiful, and nodded. "Alright."

"I need to get something from our room. I'll be right back." He hurried down the hall, pulled open the top drawer of his dresser, reached way into the back, and pulled out a ring box. He hadn't bought her a ring—that wasn't something he'd ever have thought to do—but he would wear his signet ring when he married. It would be a witness to a proper magical union, and its presence for the ceremony would be significant for their future together. She'd be a proper Malfoy from the start.

Tucking the box into his pocket, he strode back to the living area, ready to hop through the fireplace to the Manor where he'd select a proper ring for her from his family's collection.

His mind was spinning through things he'd need to take care of before rejoining her at Potter's, but he found her at the dining room table, frozen in place and staring at the bottle.

_Of course._

How thoughtless of him.

He knew instantly, and even though he desperately wanted to run and do this impulsive thing, this magical, life-altering, forever thing, now that there was hope, he couldn't deny her the chance. Slowly, the rush and urgency deflated like a balloon, and he went to her side.

"We don't have to do this tonight. We'll... er, whenever you want to test it… We could do it as soon as tomorrow. Then, we can..." His words came out faltering, stuttering and starting to match the erratic pulse of his nerves.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, I don't want to wait. I mean, there's no guarantee that it would work, and if it did, then there's so much work that needs to be done before we could reasonably get married, and—"

"Hermione, I want you to be sure. This can wait. We've waited this long; there's no hurry."

Part of him was terrified that she would end up changing her mind, if that would be the case, it wouldn't be right to marry now, tonight, in a mad rush. She needed to be ready beyond the shadow of a doubt.

She turned to him, her hand rising up to his cheek. "No, Draco. I want to marry you. As soon as possible. Then we can test the potion together. Walk through this process—together. And when it works, I can introduce you to my parents. I desperately want them to meet you—as my husband."

He thought his heart might burst, he was so happy. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Completely, entirely, unequivocally." Rising up on her toes, she pressed a light kiss to his lips. "Let's go. If we're lucky, we'll have to wake Harry and Pansy up and drag them out of bed." She grinned. "Won't that be fun?"

Without waiting for another word from him, she went to the fireplace and took a handful of Floo powder. She gave him one last look over her shoulder, complete with a saucy wink, then threw the powder into the flames. They turned green, but she didn't step in right away.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy." Then she called out her destination, stepped into the flames, and was gone.

Draco watched the flames die to their normal color, a smile on his lips. Life with Hermione had always been incredible, but he had a feeling things were only going to get better. And with her by his side, he'd be happy no matter what life had in store.


End file.
